


Death in the Afternoon

by kangeiko



Category: Alias
Genre: Community: fanfic100, Gen, Humor, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-24
Updated: 2007-03-24
Packaged: 2017-10-07 14:51:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangeiko/pseuds/kangeiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Jack and Arvin on a mission with a supervillain and his foibles. Yes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death in the Afternoon

**Author's Note:**

> fanfic100 Jack Bristow and Arvin Sloane #57 - Lunch. My table is [here](http://kangeiko.livejournal.com/113677.html).

Jack Bristow did more or less all things quietly. Including, as it turned out, being violently sick in a manner to put Linda Blair to shame. Outside the tiny bathroom, Arvin lay on the lower bunk of the sleeping area, biting on a cushion and staring at the comm. report, numbers and percentages swimming before his eyes, waiting. And waiting. And -

Was that Jack? Involuntarily, he perked up, pulling himself up on his knees to make the necessary sprint to the bathroom. No.

\- waiting.

Goddamnit. At this rate, he'd explode all over the nice gunmetal-grey décor of the compartment, and much good would their intel do the CIA then. Although, knowing the AD, they'd use it with even more relish, he thought sourly. The blood of good men and all that. Well, vomit. Close.

"All yours," Jack said at last, emerging from the bathroom pale-faced and sweating. He flopped down on the bed that Arvin vacated and buried his face in the pillow.

Arvin attempted to make a run for the bathroom, but unfortunately all his legs could manage was a vague stagger; the toxin was making sharp and painful progress through his system already. He'd probably need his stomach pumped when they could get back to friendly ground but, in the meantime, measures of the Roman variety were necessary.

What sort of insane man invited people to a civilised luncheon and then _poisoned_ them? Arvin thought, clutching the toilet-bowl. How could he last as a credible threat in this day and age, with satellite technology and miniature cameras and survival training in the Alps, when he employed tactics better suited to a Bond movie? Didn't he realise that they'd be able to _tell_ the meal had been tampered with?

"I wish I was dead," Jack muttered next door, quietly but audibly.

Arvin's stomach roiled and he doubled over reflexively. His last coherent thought was, the man's a genius.

Because - their aliases at stake - they'd _eaten_ the blasted thing, toxins and all.

*

fin

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/alias500/profile)[**alias500**](http://community.livejournal.com/alias500/) challenge: 'drink names'. The one I was thinking of was 'Death in the Afternoon'.


End file.
